


Equilibrium

by Starcrossedsky



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Extra Verse timeline, M/M, Sharing a Body, post-canon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 14:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14427540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcrossedsky/pseuds/Starcrossedsky
Summary: A heartbeat without harmonyIs moonlight without darkThe heart seeketh equilibriumWith balance will your worry partEven the best-laid plans go wrong, when you're running blind in the dark.(Or: Extra-Verse timeline. Ignis makes a miscalculation that ends with Ardyn and Noctis sharing a body as the Dawn comes to Eos. No one is exactly happy about this, yet, but they will be.)





	Equilibrium

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone else: So here's my oneshots for all these cool prompts!  
> Me: So here's the first 7.5K of a slow-burn fic for an OT3 no one else has written, entirely because I was mad about this fandom not having a "sharing a body" AU yet. It has nothing to do with any of the prompts at all but you're going to take it and you'll like it.
> 
> Slight content warnings near the end for discussion of consent issues and potential rape. Rating will _eventually_ rise to explicit. Also, had to take some panic-edits after the Royal Edition, so if you catch an error related to the information we got from that, you know what happened.
> 
> Alternating PoVs, mind the line breaks. You will pry second person PoV from my cold dead hands.
> 
> Updates will come whenever they come, for this and also all my other works, for reasons outlined on my profile.

\---- _Ignis_

You don't know what's going to happen. 

_No one_ knows quite what's going to happen. You think that things have been off-track, at the very least, since Noctis went into the Crystal, since he took the ring from your shaking grasp and told the Kings of Old, _you will not have this, this is mine._ Oh, perhaps not in those words - you can actually only barely remember what he actually said, seeing as you were half-delirious with pain and breathing your dying breaths at that moment.

But you can clearly remember, suddenly, the pain vanishing, and Noctis walking tall to meet his destiny. Your eyes and hand still ache, from time to time, when you try to reach out and exert too much magic, power too close to the power of kings that you borrowed.

Noctis reached out and made a miracle. The least you can do is give him one _back_.

Your defeat of Ardyn, however temporary, slowed the coming of the Night. A year, almost two, before the sun vanished entirely. That time you remember mostly for the frantic preparations, the gathering of supplies, the day you barged into Fenestala Manor and all but shook Ravus free from his magitek arm in search of the Oracle's family records.

It paid off, though. It _did_ , and you remember, four years into the Night, sitting up in that records-room in a manor that held only the former High Commander, yourself, and books, the night it all fell into place. 

The prophecy, a perfectly balanced equation - the light of 113 kings, to counter the Scourge, and the life of the last king, to balance the life of the first (or, rather, the man who should have been first).

To let Noctis live, all you had to do was cancel out the lives of kings on either side. What Ardyn did with his life after being forced mortal was not your concern; he could end it with his own hands, and good riddance.

It had all seemed so simple, at the time.

But now...

The light of dawn touches the sky, but sun doesn't yet break the horizon, doesn't shine in through the rent in the walls of the Citadel's throne room. At the top of the stairs, frozen, are two very familiar figures. Ardyn's face, shocked, but almost _relieved_ , is visible over Noctis' head, glittering with the magenta shine of his Armiger, shards of crystal floating from his hair. Noctis, his back to you, glows with his own blue. In his hands, you know - 

_Go forth, restore the light... and free my brother from his curse._

\- is the blade that represents the last wish of the Founder King, the secret that Somnus Lucis Caelum kept for two thousand years. Those words, spoken when Noctis turned his attention inward after you told him the plan, looking for a sign that it _could_ work, were not intended for your ears.

And yet, as one who once bore the ring, you heard them - as did _Ravus_ , for that matter, pressing metal hand to his temple with a pained expression. 

You imagine that you can almost see them now, the Kings of Old arrayed around the first and last, fading away like shadows in the dawn's light. Or perhaps they're not imaginings. Regis, his hand on his son's shoulder as Noctis tips his head forward into Ardyn's chest, and Somnus, reaching just once for Ardyn's cheek before the man flinches away - 

And then the sunlight strikes them, and the visions vanish. Only the shine of the Armiger remains, beneath the quiet, restored glitter of the Crystal.

And then - 

In a single, terrible moment - 

Ardyn and Noctis both _become_ light, red and blue, and collapse into each other and to the floor. Left behind is the greatsword pinning the Scourge to the back of the throne, and it twists and spills and - 

The sun falls upon it and it is gone, shadows burning away from the light, until nothing is left. Until it is _done_.

Except...

Only a single man, clad in royal black, lies on the floor. The only spot of color to him is his hair - too dark to be Ardyn's, too light to be called black - the glitter of gold clasps from Noctis' raiment, and a familiar orange scarf wrapped around his neck.

It is a long moment before you, or any of the others, become unstuck. Then Prompto bolts forward, his calls of "Noct? Please be Noct?" almost lost under Gladio's "What the _hell_?"

Left at the back of the room, you exchange looks with Ravus, as the man at the foot of the throne groans with a voice that belongs to neither king, and all you can think to yourself is, _how did we screw this up?_

\---- _Noctis_

It works. You _feel_ it work, through the Blade of the Mystic in your hand, the last request of your most distant ancestor ( _It was my blade that started this. Let my blade end it._ ). You feel the Scourge in Ardyn's chest, shaking and struggling and resisting the light in exactly the opposite way that its host stands still, only moving to flinch away from the shadow of his brother's touch.

You feel it work... And then you don't feel anything at _all_ , like phasing through a blow, and suddenly you're on the floor and your hands are empty and the Scourge is gone and so is Ardyn.

Except, he's not.

_Noctis, what have you **DONE**?_

Except he's _there_ , he's in your _head_ , and the only thing that mitigates your horror is that he's just as clearly panicking about it as you are. Well, that and the way Prompto's hands, hesitant but familiar, fall on your shoulders, which is only a comfort to _you_ \- Ardyn, instinctively, tries to jerk away, but it doesn't so much make your muscles twitch, which only increases his level of panic and confusion.

You realize, quickly, that you can't do anything about that, so you focus on calming _yourself_ down first. You learned to handle panic attacks when you were a kid, and so you breathe deeply, slowly, ignoring the strange way your ribs ache and your clothes don't feel quite right, ignoring everything except Prompto's anchoring hands on your shoulders. 

"I'm okay," you say, and your voice comes out _wrong_ , too deep even to your own ears, and you can only imagine how it sounds to the others. "...Scratch that, I'm not okay."

"Your voice..." you hear Ignis say quietly, somewhere behind you.

"Uh, okay, just checking, but you are still Noct, right?" Prompto says from above you, and you tilt your head back and open your eyes, finally, and that's seemingly enough to shake Ardyn out of whatever panic spiral he's fallen into in the back of your head, because you can see the sunlight on Prompto's hair and - 

_It doesn't hurt_ , crosses your mind, the thought not from you, filled with shock and wonder. 

"I'm pretty sure, yeah," you say out loud. "But he's, uh, he's in here, too." You tap your head, as though it wasn't indication enough what you meant. "He's kind of freaking out right now."

 _I appreciate your gift for understatement, Noctis, but now is perhaps not the time._ Oh, hey, that one was definitely directed at you. You just kind of give a mental shrug in Ardyn's direction, and throw out a thought that way - 

_I don't like it, either._

_**Dislike** is another of those understatements._

Well, at least you have confirmation that he can hear you as much as you hear him. Time to get used to an unpleasant lack of privacy with your archnemesis.

"You turned into light and sort of... fell into each other," Prompto says, offering a hand to help you up. Feeling sore in new and unexpected ways, you're grateful to take it. "Also, uh, you might want to look in a mirror."

"I think I can guess," you say, especially when you pull yourself up straight and - well, you have a good couple of inches on Prompto suddenly. Not as much as Ardyn's absurd full height, but probably about even with Ignis, if you had to guess. "How's my hair?"

"Little wavy, really dark purple," Gladio says, crossing his arms at the foot of the stairs. "Or... red. Whatever that bastard's hair color was, but darker."

 _Wine, thank you, Gladiolus. It's **wine** -colored,_ Ardyn mutters into your thoughts, and you can feel his urge to pull a hand through that hair. You pointedly fold your hands into your armpits instead.

"It really is a perfect blend," Ignis says, taking a step closer and looking at you over his lenses. To anyone who didn't know him as well, he'd sound perfectly calm, but you can tell how unsettled he is. "Except for your eyes. Those are as blue as ever."

"Great," you say. "Good thing my photo ID was out of date anyway."

 _If you don't know what you **did** , what were you **trying** to do?_ Ardyn says, his mental voice now almost uncomfortably calm. And you feel him reaching into your memories to find out, and press a hand to your face, because it doesn't quite _hurt_ but it feels - 

"Noct?!" Prompto puts his hands on your shoulders again, fully prepared to hold you up. Ignis, too, up the stairs so fast you'd think he warped.

"Are you alright?" Ignis says, and you just kind of nod, because you're fine, it's just kind of disorienting to have someone reaching into your memories and just - 

_His math was wrong,_ Ardyn says, in a tone of incredulity tinged with bitter amusement. _Tell him his math was wrong. I was already dead, there was only one living body between us._

"Ugh," you groan. "Shit." You draw in a shaky breath, pressing your hands into your face and just leaving them there this time. "Specs?"

"What is it?" Ignis says, almost immediately, voice tinged with concern, and at least that's familiar. Some thought bubbles up, something of Ardyn's that doesn't quite reach the surface - envy?

"Ardyn says your math was wrong, because he was already dead. I think he didn't have a body at all, except the Starscourge."

Ignis exhales slowly. Gladio mutters, "Oh, hell," somewhere down the stairs. Further down yet, you hear the sound of metal impacting stone - Ravus, punching the wall with his magitek arm. Distantly, with knowledge you shouldn't _have_ , you know he must have pulled the blow, because it should have been much louder than that.

"That... is quite the error," Ignis says finally. "And one I should have realized, given..."

You wait for him to fill in the gap, but he doesn't. Ardyn, meanwhile, thinks in a murmur, _It was hardly the first time I was discorporated. You can thank my wonderful brother for that._

My blade that started this, said the echo of Somnus, voice heavy with regret. And Ardyn snaps against the thought, against your memory, _I don't **care** what he regretted._

It's the first time he's sounded anything like the cluster of daemons he was only a short hour ago, and you pull back from it instinctively. Ardyn doesn't do anything to retract the spiteful emotions, doesn't apologize.

It would be weird if he did. Whatever, not your problem.

(Except that _he_ is kind of your problem now, isn't he?)

"It's okay, Iggy," you say. "It's - look, it's better than me being dead, right?"

 _Perhaps for you,_ Ardyn says in a whisper, and before you can react, he pulls away from your mind almost entirely, his presence vanishing into the shadows in what would be a twirl of his coattails if he had a body. You can feel a _weight_ where he is, but that's all.

You certainly don't chase after him. You're emotionally exhausted and hungry and, in spite of the shining sun, feel as though you could fall asleep on the spot. You try to stand up straight again, sway, and find yourself leaning on Prompto once more.

"Let's just get out of here," you say, and no one disagrees.

\---- _Ignis_

It is delightful, you think, that Gladio realized that the beds in the Citadel's old Glaive quarters, down in the basement, would have been unaffected by the damage to the rest of the building. None of you are in a fit state make the journey all the way back to Hammerhead, especially with Noct's... _situation_ , but a day of resting in Insomnia no longer carries nearly as much risk of killing you. 

The camp stove is still in the Armiger - you're loath to use it in such an enclosed space, in case of fumes, but there's not a lot of other options. Even for Cup Noodles you at least need hot water. You manage a little better than that, frying up some miraculously-fresh trout that look nothing like they've spent ten years in the Armiger. 

Gladio and Prompto turn their attentions to shaking the worst of the dust out of the beds. Noctis seems content to flop into one and doze off immediately.

Or perhaps he's simply... Adjusting. You suppose you can't blame him on either front.

And then there is Ravus, who, you already know, will hover uncomfortably at the fringes unless you make an effort to include him. And it must be _you_ who makes the effort, in spite of everything - he and Gladio have never been exactly friends, and Prompto's natural energy is not for everyone.

And there is the matter of Altissia, and all that happened there. After ten years, it remains - a subject never brought out to the light, by strict unspoken agreement.

Perhaps, with the dawn, it can. But not now; now all it takes is a glance at Noctis, posture his own but body unsubtly _wrong_ , to know that the job isn't yet done.

Still, you can hardly leave him simply hovering there. You beckon with one hand, a snap of electrical energy between your fingers before you even think about it. It made for an easy shorthand fighting in the dark, a touch of elemancy so that your closest comrades would know whose attention you wanted, but you hardly need it anymore. Even here in the Glaive quarters, sunlight streams in musty windows set high in the walls.

(You're almost kind of _glad_ they're musty, because you doubt that anyone save Noctis would have been able to sleep in the full light of day, so suddenly restored after ten years.)

"Get the stove going, would you?" you say, setting it out, and you get the usual bland nod in return. At least that's one thing his magitek arm has been good for - sparks, any time you need them.

There's a few moments of relative silence, punctuated by Prompto snapping a blanket into a cloud of dust and starting to cough. Finally, Ravus says, "What are you going to do?"

"Right now?" You shrug, and pull a bottle of cooking oil from the Armiger. (So _nice_ , to have full access to these supplies again. "Get some rest. We can start figuring this out tomorrow."

"This is likely permanent, you realize."

You pause in your preparation of the fish, knowing the way your expression loses every bit of good humor that you've tried to maintain. "...I know. Their body now is proof enough of that."

 _Now_ , as though you didn't have to control a flinch back the first time you saw Noctis' face after he awoke from crystal slumber. You wonder if he even _knew_ how identical his ten-years-aged face had been to Ardyn's.

(Some part of your brain, perhaps the part analyzing things for worst case scenarios on a constant basis, has pointed out that that means that you know what Ardyn must have looked like all those centuries past. You cannot help but superimpose wavy red hair and yellow eyes on your earliest memories of Noct, now.)

"If it means that Noctis can _live_ , with any degree of happiness, then I find it a worthwhile trade," you say. "I am, after all, perfectly capable of dealing with Ardyn myself."

And you know that Ravus, at least, understands that, understands the exact hows and whys. All it takes is a glance at his arm as you slide past him to put pan to stove, gently nudging him aside.

"The ring is gone," he replies, but steps aside to let you work. "Even if it wasn't, I doubt the Kings of Yore would let you escape twice."

And that - the other bitter reminder. Ravus paid with his arm and got nothing. You were ready to give everything, and in the end, paid nothing at all.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," you say. "If you're off for Lestallum in the - " Morning, you had been about to say, but it's morning now, genuine sunny morning. That too will take adjusting to, the time of day actually having meaning instead of the entire human population running on whatever schedule they might. " - tomorrow, would you inform the Marshal and Iris that it may be some time until we return? I'd prefer to keep the specifics under wraps for the time being, but let them know we made it through."

Ravus nods. "You'll remain in Insomnia, then?"

"I think that's the best course of action for now," you say. "At least until we know how to move forward. It could prove difficult for anyone else to know that the Chancellor... _persists_ , in any form."

The people of Gralea, those few who survived, that Aranea's people brought back to Lestallum by train and dropship, would be nearly as hungry for Ardyn's blood as those who survived Insomnia. Both had their reasons to hold grudge against the Niflheim government, and of the truly responsible parties, only one remained.

However much that counted for, you can't help but observe, glancing at where Noctis has fallen into slightly deeper sleep on his chosen bunk. Even the smell of the fish, sizzling the moment you put it to pan, doesn't make him stir.

Well, no point in waking him before it's finished. Let him rest.

\---- _Ardyn_

When Noctis falls into a light doze, you follow without meaning to - without even realizing you _can_. It isn't as though you've really missed anything, or as though you could have done much with the body you're occupying deep in the grip of sleep paralysis, but - 

For a brief, unlucid moment when you wake, you are someplace else, somewhere safe and warm and two thousand years lost. The hand on your shoulder doesn't belong to one of Noctis' retainers, but to - 

"Noct, get up a moment, there's food."

Reality comes crashing back with Ignis' voice, and reminds you that every time you thought you had discovered all the ways to hurt a person, you wound up proven wrong. To want for the hands that betrayed you, the comforting touch that you were sure you had _forgotten_ , to crave it and loathe and know that it is _gone_ all at the same time, is a form of pain that is new and almost incomprehensible.

And there is _Noctis_ , thoughts tinged with concern for you when they damn well should be everything but, and you jerk as far back from him as you are able. You can remember, on the level of instinct, how to nearly mute out your senses when they caused you too much pain, the Scourge in you trying to retreat from the sunlight, and you do the same now against a very different kind of pain.

To live again, but as nothing more than a mass of memories and thoughts. You would almost think that Ignis had done it intentionally, such an exquisite torture, if not for the risk it poses to Noctis.

You won't soon forget exactly _what_ Ignis Scientia was willing to give for the Chosen King. To think, the Kings of Yore rewarding such loyalty when they themselves had none...

When the same degree of spite doesn't bubble up in you at the thought, you're surprised, and strangely empty. Without the Scourge to fuel your anger, it's almost impossible to feel.

You are considering that realization, pulling it apart to examine it, when something from Noctis' senses jerks you back to corporeal awareness again.

It isn't pain. You'd recognize pain, in all its forms. You think that you could recognize warmth, having experienced it a couple times in the last few hours. This, this is...

Noctis is eating.

Or, rather, he has stopped eating for the moment, and stares off to the side as though you were standing there. You can tell that it's a look directed at you, but you can't bring yourself to _care_. You haven't had a sense of _taste_ \- because what else could that sensation be? - in two thousand years, and here is Noctis chewing on a little piece of heaven.

(It is probably fortunate that you are _not_ in control of the body you share with him, because you would probably have choked, and you vaguely recall that sensation as being extremely unpleasant.)

Noctis continues to regard you with suspicion for a moment before taking another bite. It is as momentous as the first, all the pleasures of life you have been denied for two thousand years in the space between chewing and swallowing. You throw yourself into the sensation with relish.

"I think he likes it," Noctis says, practicing that power of royal understatement again, and you - had you a voice, you'd _laugh_.

What is _wrong_ with you?

 _It's called being alive,_ Noctis says to you in silent thoughts, tone tinged with amusement. In your quest for the fullest experience of the meal, you've let the walls between you come down, and of course Noctis hasn't put them back up. He probably doesn't even know how. _You know, really alive, instead of horrible cursed Scourge life._

 _It's not living unless I can move on my own,_ you say, and again find that the venom you sought to put into the words doesn't come. Instead, you just sound exhausted. _But... As half-existences go, it's far more tolerable than the last one._

Or, at the very least, a welcome change of pace, a novelty that hasn't yet worn off. When it does, you suppose you'll likely be back to loathing and bitterness as usual.

Another of those strange nudges from Noctis. _Hey. You're not alone in the dark anymore, okay?_

 _Oh, don't pretend,_ you say, and there, _there's_ the bitterness you were lacking. _You'd be rid of me faster than anyone if you but knew how. Spare the sympathy._

 _Not liking you as a person doesn't mean I think you deserve to suffer,_ Noctis thinks back at you, loading a camp fork with buttery fried fish. _So shut up and enjoy the trout._

You do. You can hardly help yourself. Then you pull away again, sparing the both of you the awkwardness of experiencing other mortal, bodily needs together. That's another sensation that comes practically foreign, but you're vaguely glad that you kept the plumbing on in the Citadel anyway.

Then you fall into sleep once more, your dreams fitful but warm, almost as though some messenger or fate was seeking to offer you the comfort you have been so long been denied in the flesh. There is something almost poetic, probably, about spending the first day after the Dawn asleep in a basement of Insomnia. And on the first day, he rested, or some such nonsense.

Those are your first handful of even halfway coherent thoughts when you wake. The sun comes in at a long angle through the dusty windows, tinted red. Noctis is similarly groggy, content to burrow into dusty bedding and close his eyes again, which gives you something like privacy to think.

You wish you could grasp the things you dreamed properly, to better understand them, to understand this feeling of warmth. It's the first time in so long that you have had an experience that wasn't rendered in stark, painful clarity. You can't even bring yourself to enjoy it. It feels almost wrong.

You know the exact moment the sun slips beneath the horizon. You feel it like passing through the rain, all of your body's senses thrown into sudden overdrive. Noctis, too, feels it, shocking into proper wakefulness immediately.

You are no longer drifting. You are physical and present, and when you wish to move, your body obeys, your eyes opening, your hand lifting to reach for the air in front of you. You leave it there, staring, wondering whose calluses are whose, wondering why it's so hard to see in any detail. 

_Uh, Eos to Ardyn,_ Noctis says, pushing against the back of your mind with a harsh shove. _Don't like, get lost or anything, but why are you the one able to move suddenly?_

Oh. _Oh_ , right, that is a thing that's just happened, isn't it?

 _One king for the light of day and one for the dark of night, is it?_ you find yourself thinking, before pushing yourself into a sitting position. Your back aches in a foreign way - Noctis' old injury, not yours, throwing all the strangeness of the situation into sharp relief. 

You are _sharing_ this mortal form. In truth, that is, not simply by one of you having control and the other being pulled along for the ride. Your hands wind up in your hair, the texture a little too straight to be your own, pulling through it automatically.

"Oh, hells," you mutter, in a voice that isn't quite his, isn't quite yours, and then you bury your face in your hands.

\---- _Ignis_

"Oh, hells."

Something about the voice snaps you out of sleep immediately, catching your breath up short and dispelling any chance of drowsiness. At first you're not sure _what_ is wrong about it, other than the obvious. It's been perhaps twelve hours - the sun's just gone down - so it's not that surprising that Noctis' new voice would still read as unfamiliar - 

It isn't until you sit up and _look_ that you realize. It may have been the same voice, but in the tones of a different speaker, smooth and almost musical and familiar like a nightmare you've had since childhood.

You look, and the posture isn't one that belongs to Noctis, not with the way the man's face is buried almost fully in his palms, fingers curling into dark hair.

You cross the space between your bed and his in an instant, roughly grasping one of those hands by the wrist to draw it away from his face. Underneath, Ardyn's yellow blinks up at you, before he pulls the wrist out of your suddenly limp grasp.

"You..." you start to say. "What have you done to Noct?"

" _Nothing_ ," Ardyn hisses back at you. "It seems the setting of the sun caused us to switch places."

You turn the statement over in your head. Much as you distrust Ardyn, you don't think he has any reason to lie to you in this instance. The words that initially caught your attention had sounded genuinely distressed.

A shuffling sound behind you - Prompto, crossing from his bunk on the far side to sit on the edge of yours. The whole group is awake, now. Ardyn watches them - watches Ravus, mostly, likely considering the one who cared for Noctis the least to be the biggest threat. That's what you would assume in his position, at any rate.

"One king for the dawn and one for the night," you say, and you find that you can't keep the bitterness entirely from your tone. Ardyn freezes in the process of running his hand through his hair again. Bad enough before, but this - 

"What's the plan?" Gladio says, his words directed at you but his eyes on Ardyn as he hovers around the end of the bed. 

They're all looking at you, of course, even if not in the literal sense, even if no one is willing to take their eyes off the suddenly returned monster in your midst. Only Ardyn's unnatural yellow is actually on you, but the whole room is trapped in place, waiting.

"The plan hasn't changed, of course," you say. "Ravus will still return to Lestallum with the Marshal and inform Aranea and Iris of what has transpired, while the rest of us... remain here." It seems suddenly a more daunting prospect, knowing that you won't be remaining with _Noctis_ at your side, at least not all the time. "See what remains of Insomnia's Infrastructure remains and adjust to our new reality."

Some detached part of you observes that Ardyn may even be a boon in that regard, if he hasn't simply been sitting the last ten years in the Citadel awaiting Noctis' arrival. _Someone_ had to be responsible for the lights and elevators in this building running, and you doubt it was any daemon.

Or at least any normal daemon, depending on how you wish to count.

"I don't like it," Gladio says. "But I guess it's not like we have much of a choice."

"It's better than having Noct dead," Prompto says, with that edge in his voice that is somewhere between arguing and begging not to argue. He's far less afraid of Gladio's temper than he was when all of this began. "We'll deal with it. Somehow."

You turn your attention away from them and back to the epicenter of this mess, who has remained uncharacteristically silent. He's paying attention - his head swings back and forth occasionally, tracking the conversation, but there's something disconnected about it. Talking to Noct internally, or something else?

"And what is it _you_ intend to do?" you ask, because someone must. Ardyn looks at you - looks through you, not in the piercing way that feels as though he knows your every thought, but as though he's not really seeing you at all.

And then he smiles, and it's the same almost-vicious smile, the one you could never mistake for Noctis', same body or not, and it's almost comforting that that is old when everything else is new.

"For the moment?" he says, politician's cheer in place. "I intend to thoroughly enjoy the leftovers you've so helpfully set up. Pass me a plate, would you?"

\---- _Noctis_

As it turns out, Ardyn is _way_ weirder than you ever thought, and it's pretty much directly related to the fact that he has had a suckier life than you could ever have imagined.

Not that that _fixes_ what he's done, but. Even aside from sharing a body with the guy meaning that you have to put your anger away, be the bigger person, even if he isn't... It's hard not to feel _bad_ for a guy who is so unused to feeling temperature that he doesn't even realize that he's starting to shiver from the cold until you point it out. Kind of spooky, when he pulls a deep red wool cloak out of his Armiger that's apparently been in there upwards of a thousand years, but... 

It's just _sad_ , when he's drinking even plain clean bottled water like it's the nectar of the gods.

 _I don't need your sympathy,_ he thinks at you at that point, bottle still raised to his (your) lips even though the last drops are gone.

 _Too bad,_ you think back at him, _You've got it anyway._

At least he's cooperating with the guys pretty easily, in a tired, why-bother-doing-otherwise kind of way. After Ravus takes off, he shows them the generators that have kept the Citadel running and the handful of other things he bothered to set up for himself here, as the sole occupant of a dead Insomnia. As it turns out, weirdly enough, the only other place he bothered to go was the old used bookstore that Gladio used to frequent, hidden away under rubble but largely undamaged.

He didn't bother to send any electricity to it, though. Or to anywhere else, and it takes you a strange minute to realize why, the third time he trips over something because he hasn't turned the flashlight still hooked to the front of your jacket on.

 _Hey, Ardyn?_ You kind of mentally prod him for his attention as he straightens for the third time. _You're not a daemon anymore. You need light to see._

He stops, makes a disgusted noise, and reaches down to flip the light on before pulling his arms back under the cloak. "I loathe that you're entirely correct," he mutters aloud, low enough that the others won't hear.

Or, mostly. Ignis has stuck to him like glue, and you hear a quiet chuckle. "Be glad he took pity on you," Ignis says in a similarly low tone. "We were all waiting to see if you'd ever figure it out."

"How terrible," Ardyn replies without missing a beat. "If I were to break my leg, your beloved king would still have to deal with it in the morning."

Ignis doesn't answer, but you can tell that he's not backing off because he thinks of the comment as any kind of threat. He just doesn't like to be thought of as _petty_ and, yeah, that was pretty petty for Ignis, of all people. Not that Ardyn doesn't deserve it, but...

Ardyn himself has pretty much tuned you out, working on the valves of the Citadel's pipes with a strange sort of practiced ease. The occasional flash of pink brings tools in and out of his hands, some of them modern-looking, some of them clearly ancient, all of them well used. You don't understand what he's doing, exactly, but he'd offered to get the water back on, at least down here in the Glaive quarters.

And then, finally, with a final twist of a pair of pliers - 

"That ought to do," he says, dropping the tool unceremoniously into his Armiger in another burst of pink. "I imagine it will need running for a bit to get all the rust out, but it should prove functional enough."

"We do appreciate it," Ignis says, crossing his arms. "Fortunate that you're an adept mechanic; I doubt Prompto could have handled the electrical aspects alone, nevermind the plumbing."

"You do pick up a few things with two thousand years to kill," Ardyn says, with one of those wide shrugs of his. "In exchange, I'll be taking first use of that shower. Toodle-loo."

 _I can't believe you just said that,_ you 'mutter' as he turns from Ignis and walks right past, back to the barracks proper.

_Noct, Noct, Noct. It's almost like you don't know me at all._

You know a flippant comment when you hear one. (It's like half of how you communicate with Gladio, after all.) But somehow, something about it sticks in your mind, and you wind up taking it seriously.

 _Well, I don't, really,_ you think at him. _Not who you are, you know, without all the Scourge and everything._

You knew that there _was_ a person in there, under all the layers of evils and dramatics and whatever else. But you didn't expect to ever meet him. And now you don't have much of a choice.

You think that Ardyn is just going to brush you off again, but instead, he pauses, hand on the latch of one of the shower stalls. _I don't believe I know him, either._

Well. Yeah, alright, that's unexpectedly serious. Maybe not surprising, after two thousand years of nothing else, but not something you thought he'd _admit_ so easily. It hurts to think about.

(It hurts the same way that it did to come out of the crystal into a body ten years older, one you couldn't even recognize. It's not the same _thing_ , but you remember the disjointed feeling, the difference between the you you expected and your body.)

(That's probably why you were okay with _this_ body, this strange fusion. It didn't feel like yours in the first place. ... For Ardyn, who didn't change for two thousand years, the feeling must be much worse.)

You imagine, for a moment, standing beside him, bumping your shoulder against his in a gesture of comfort like you'd do for any of the guys. _We'll get to know him together, then._

Another freeze, this time as Ardyn is reaching up to pull the scarf from his neck for the shower. But, this time - 

He doesn't push you away, or retreat back into his own head. He just pauses in quiet shock, before finishing his motion and depositing his scarf into the safety of his Armiger.

It is, you think, a start.

\---- _Ignis_

When you come back to the barracks, there's the sound of water running in the showers. Well, as much as you'd like to wash the grime off yourself, you've had just about enough of Ardyn's company for the day. As long as you get there before Prompto, there will be plenty of hot water.

You're going through the motions of making the beds instead, needing something to busy your hands with, when the first moan reaches your ears.

You assume you've misheard it, but then there's a second. And you know well enough the sounds of pleasure - Lestallum, after the dark fell, never seemed to have enough space for all the people who reacted to such disasters by immediately attempting to repopulate.

An awful thought crosses your mind, and before it's even concluded, you're at the door of the showers, ready to rip the door of the stall from its hinges. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , you shouldn't have trusted Ardyn an _inch_ , and now he has Noct at his mercy in a way you never could have imagined - 

You fling the door open, ignoring the spray of the steam on your glasses, and find...

Absolutely nothing untoward happening. Ardyn has hands buried in his hair, his closed eyes snapping open at your intrusion. The yellow gleams too-brightly in the dark, a reminder that there's still _one_ daemon in the world even with the Starscourge gone...

The rest of him, on the other hand, reminds you very much that without the darkness, he's simply a man. "Do you _mind_?" he snaps.

"I..." For once, you're at a loss for words. "...My apologies. I thought... Nevermind." Horrifically embarrassed, you swing the door closed again, and hope that will be the end of it.

As you're turning away, you hear a quiet voice, mixed with the sound of the water, say, "Even at the worst of what I was, I never went that far."

"I see. I'm sorry."

A huff, and the sound of a shower knob turning the water off. "I've hardly given you reason to think anything but the worst of me."

You don't have an answer for that, because it's true. Instead, you just get out of his way before he reappears from the shower, and when Prompto and Gladio return from their investigation of the Citadel's generators, do your best to pretend that nothing happened at all.

\---- _Ardyn_

 _This is screwed up to say,_ Noctis says, after Ignis cuts the comforting warmth of your shower short _but I'm really glad you didn't..._

You wait a moment for him to finish the thought, accept that he isn't going to, and pull a thick red towel from your Armiger to bury your head in. What you said to Ignis was the truth, after all. _I have no desire to harm you while we're... cohabitating,_ you finally say to Noctis, pulling the towel down around your shoulders and dropping it on the bed. _There's no reason to make this any more miserable of an experience than it already is._

There's a feeling of acknowledgement, an unverbalized combination of 'that makes sense' and 'fair enough.' And Noctis, damned _Noctis_ and all his compassion for even you, asks, _Is it really that miserable?_

It catches you off-guard enough that your hand freezes for a moment as you reach into your Armiger for clean clothes (of which you have plenty, some of them near as old as you are). A cream-colored shirt spills over your lap, now slightly too large for you, and you pull it over your head and start at the ties lacing up the collar.

Noctis waits quite patiently as you do up the cuffs as well, but you can tell that he isn't going to simply disappear until you answer. Finally, reaching for some of your other softer clothes, you say, _I suppose it is not **that** terrible. But it is not the end I would have chosen and you well know it._

 _Yeah, I know,_ he says. _But here we are, and you're actually enjoying things like soft fabric and warm water again._

You pointedly do not spend too long considering which of your underwear will be most comfortable and grab out of your Armiger practically at random. Noctis catches that thought anyway and gives you the mental sensation of a small yet irrepressible grin. 

_Are those silk?_ he asks, and you wish very much that you could shove him. Ten years in the Crystal be damned, he may as well still be twenty.

_Do shut up, Noctis._

_Hey, nothing wrong with knowing what you like,_ he says. And he feels so close, as you finish getting yourself into at least a half-dressed state and throw the damp towel over the dusty rail at the end of the bed. You are so _wonderfully_ warm and refreshed, and really, not miserable at all.

But eventually, awkwardly, Noctis starts again, _Though now that it's uh, been brought up, we should probably talk about, um..._

Can't he even think it? _I'll not be involved with any activity that restrains our hands,_ you say, pushing down the whys of why it sends such a shock of anxiety through you. _Beyond that, I have very little in the way of sexual preference, and I am perfectly willing to accommodate you in whatever regard you require._ You can't quite keep all of the dryness out of your mental tone.

 _Uh. Okay._ Goodness, you can feel how he would fidget, were your body under his control right now. You close your eyes and stretch out on the bed like a particularly large cat, pointedly not doing anything of the sort. _But, like, okay so like but if we jerk off, that's... preeeeetty much kinda like having sex?_

 _And your point?_ you say, wrapping your arms under the meager pillow. Didn't you have a better one in the Armiger at some point...? _You may be the last of my brother's line, but we're far enough removed that it's hardly **incestuous**. Normal people don't actually count beyond the eighth generation or so._

 _I. Okay._ Noctis sounds still unsure what the make of that. Perhaps of what to make of you entirely, now that the subject has been broached.

(He is so young. You cared little before, when it was only his hand that could end you, because that was all you could care about. Now even thirty seems far too young.)

You sigh into the pillow. _I'll not do anything without talking to you if you'll agree to the same, if that makes you more comfortable._

 _Yeah. Okay. That works,_ he says. _And - no one who doesn't know we're both in here._

 _That rather limits our pool of options at the moment, you realize,_ you feel obligated to point out.

_It's not like I'm looking. Are you?_

_I suppose not._ You stretch one more time, pulling your scarf and - yes, victory, you _do_ have a far superior pillow, magnificent. It's far more satisfyingly squashy to press your face into a sack of chocobo down. _Goodnight, Noctis._

 _...Night,_ he says eventually, but by then, you are near enough to the strange sensation of sleep again that it barely even registers.

And then, strange as it still seems, you dream.


End file.
